Two by Jay Merrill

HammondLittle bits of
luck can shine on you even in a luckless life.
That was Hammond’s take when he found the unlocked garage. He’d clocked the empty house last month and
kept an eye on things since. Curtains up
at the window, but that would be to keep prying eyes away. He’d found a gap,
squinted, just seen there was no sign of any furniture inside. Nothing.
Now, place still empty, no for-sale
sign, weeds in the driveway. Give-away.
Then he’d tried the garage door.
Open! No less. Weather getting colder -- he nearly froze
two nights’ ago. Last night he’d managed
with an extra sheet of bubble-wrap. But doorway like ice. Hammond thought about
the empty garage. Walked past the next
morning. All empty as before; door
unlocked. Wow. House just near a trading estate; bit of waste ground where
the odd lorry was parked sometimes.
Couple of other places further down the road, lived in, coupla others boarded
up, a sign saying Security protected. He felt a twitch of anger whenever he saw the
words. Houses were protected, humans
were not. Last year he’d read in the paper how a rough-sleeper
had died after being flung out of an empty bungalow. He knew the place. Derelict. A dump.
But rules were rules. It was
illegal to squat a residential prop.
Even if you had no-where to go; even if you were freezing. Hammond shuddered and pulled his quilted
jacket tighter. That wasn’t gonna happen
to him. He was going to over-winter in
that empty garage. Would keep a low
profile. Had done it before often
enough. So, then.
He moved his stuff in. Meaning, he took
some lengths of cardboard and a few empty boxes round. Keep off the damp; keep out the draughts. Dumped
them in a corner – out of sight. Not
that there was anybody who’d be looking.
And said to himself, What if he
was discovered and the police were called? Replied: Prison is a whole lot more comfortable than the gutter. If you
weren’t proud; if you didn’t mind sinking to that, you had a win-win situation. He’d rather not be locked up though he could see the benefits. Life was hard as
hell for the have-nots in today’s
society. And he also spared
a thought for the
dead. What so many people had had to go though at different times in
history.
He suddenly pictured his mum, a gentle,
fragile person from a sheltered background. Hammond could hardly bear to think of the
broken way she’d look, of the screams that would pour out of her if she’d seen
her beloved Hammy now. He’d turned
into someone she would have been afraid of; someone she would have avoided at
all costs. She would no longer have understood anything about him. A down-and-out, a rough-sleeper. Wretched. Then he cut off this line of
thought. Too much sentiment didn’t help. You had to cope with whatever life threw at
you, even if that meant letting go of old allegiances. The have-nots.
The poor of this world. He belonged
to them. The poor of all times past, and
present. They were his people, his society
now.
A bunch of keys hung from the inside of the
garage door lock. Wow, he’d be able to lock himself in, nights. And When evening turned dim he unlocked the
back-door of the house, carrying no torch for safety’s sake, but seeing things
clear enough in the streetlit glow. Looked round the ground-floor. Damp; floorboards rickety. Went up the creaky stairs and heard
something. More than the creaks. A
whispered sound; sort of subdued, like a cough.
Was a bit shaken, but he carried on. On the landing he stopped and
listened. Nothing. Though he had the
sense of another presence.
‘Who’s there?’ he called out. No-one replied and he checked the upstairs. Stared
into all its corners and thought of who
may have lived there; thought of the past.
And, he didn’t feel alone. He
belonged to the vast legion of those who had absolutely nothing, who inhabited
spaces owned by others. It was as though they were joining with him now in an
act of celebration, in this smallish tatty, abandoned room. ~ ~ ~

Bick

Funny. It hit me heavy sitting behind the car-park
wall. Dreaming’s fine but if you want
changes you gotta act. Like, I’m pissed off with home and want out, but... Paralysis. Maybe that’s why I’ve come to try crack. As well as Emmie being on it I mean and so I wanted to, you know¸ and then I found
some. Well, found.

Togetherness. We’ve
got a lot in common so why not? I just wanted her to see that. Well it
helped, as I don’t think she’d really noticed me before. We sat behind the wall and had just sniffed. First time for me. I acted like not though. Didn’t want to seem a fool. Emmie did the
honours, very cool-like. And emerge was what I thought of as I
snorted. I shouted it out loud too. I
remember that. Just that word. Emerge! It leapt right out of me and
kept coming. I was telling myself and
the world too, you can’t go on being a grubby little caterpillar for your whole
life. You gotta move upwards; find your
wings. Instant death for the
creepy-crawly otherwise. Crystal clear
to me. I could even see these little squirming grubs being squashed under heavy
boots. The grubs were me and Emmie. I was hollering and Emmie, she was laughing
her head off. I loved the look of her
pearly teeth before they sank.

‘Give yourself a break Bick,’ she went. I
was still angry at the thought of being crushed like that but her words helped calm
me down. I wanted answers but could be Emmie was right. A
break. What those words said to me
was getting out of it. So I did. Trouble was, knowing me, it made me shout the
more. Wasn’t supposed to. But I guess the shout was inside me and
would’ve come out whatever. The shout wanted to come out and I wanted to get out. You can’t stop things and I for
one ad had it up to the eyeballs with Leytonstone. ‘Let’s go away then,’ I said
to Emmie. She said, yes, she would. Shit. Already had the tent didn’t I. So we took the tube to Epping; walked to the
woods.

Emmie says she likes being a runaway. Me, I say, why shouldn’t we go where we
want? We’re both sixteen, had enough of
home, want out. She said so herself. Will be great hiding out in the forest,
anyway we have the crack. I pinched it
from my brother’s mate Ludi, knew he
kept a stash in this little wallet type arrangement he kept under the seat in
his car. He’d never think of me. The crack was a good reason for taking a
holiday. It was gonna be a real cool trip.

We set up the tent and sit in the opening.
Rough sleeping’s not so bad as it’s made
out. Have had one or two turn-ons and
now we’ve done a line of coke and we’re staring out at the trees. Far as I’m
concerned don’t want to go back. Emmie says she feels the same. And we don’t
have to. I tell the girl this. We can find a way to survive. There’s two of us, aint there. Then we have a bit of kissing but we’re not
in the mood-like. And Emmie says she’s never done it, have I? I don’t answer her. Too much of a downer.

Our heads are somewhere else. I can feel mine dancing in the wind which
blows the trees. As if I’m just another
of the waving branches up there, or even
as if I am the wind. Funny thoughts I keep
having. But it feels good, feels
great-like. I look around. All this is
what is meant by the beauty of nature.

And I stand up suddenly. Emmie’s laughing herself silly. Me too.
We can’t seem to stop. I’m
becoming a new person; feel it spiraling out of the one I’m used to. I love to feel that happening. It draws sound out of me out in my till I’m
singing in my loudest voice. There’s a
rush of bushes and three giant butterflies fly up suddenly into sky. Emerge!

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.